And We'll Have Ourselves A Merry Little Christmas
by inukagome15
Summary: For the Cap/Iron Man exchange. It's not that Tony doesn't like Christmas. He just doesn't celebrate it (or do it at all actually). Nothing is going to change that. Not even his team (or Steve).


**This was a gift story for _StarkNakedPatriot_ over on the Cap/Iron Man comm for Christmas. It was a lot of fun to write. The prompt I filled is at the bottom of the story.**

**I had to dump about a 1,000 words at the beginning because while it helped me get into Tony's head, it didn't work for the story's flow. Ah, well...**

**And We'll Have Ourselves A Merry Little Christmas**: It's not that Tony doesn't like Christmas. He just doesn't celebrate it (or do it at all actually). Nothing is going to change that. Not even his team (or Steve).

**DISCLAIMER: Nothing belongs to me.**

* * *

**And We'll Have Ourselves A Merry Little Christmas**

* * *

It was December, and New York City had been decorated in red and green since Thanksgiving. It seemed even more outrageous than usual, probably because of all the recent fighting between super humans, aliens, and mutants that had been going on.

But while the rest of New York was fully getting into the swing of the Christmas spirit, Avengers Mansion looked like it did any other day of the year (although it had looked rather spooky on Halloween since Tony did know how to scare people). This wasn't anything new, but for the first time in decades, the mansion was a home again.

The Avengers had originally been slated to live in Stark Tower, but that decision had been rethought after the next villain decided to use it as a giant lightning rod to power a enormous robot that looked suspiciously like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man from _Ghostbusters_ (it hadn't lasted long after Hulk got pissed off and ripped it apart). Pepper had informed Tony that it was perhaps not the best idea to make the tower even more a bulls-eye than it currently was, so he went and reclaimed the mansion from the Maria Stark Foundation, renovating it until it was suitable to be the living quarters of the Avengers. It meant he had to downsize the plans some for the team's floors (because the mansion didn't _have_ that many floors, though it did have rooms), but no one seemed too bothered by this.

But to get to the point, the mansion was a home, so it technically should have been decorated for the holidays, right?

Well, considering that Tony Stark didn't exactly _do_ Christmas (and hadn't for years), no decorations had been put up. This came as no surprise to Pepper and Rhodey, as they had been friends with him for years and knew that outside of the extravagant galas Stark Industries tended to throw, Tony didn't decorate his personal homes. Sometimes Dummy snuck in a piece of tinsel or a sad-looking evergreen tree (courtesy of Rhodey since he thought it was a riot) and put it up in a corner of the workshop to be guarded zealously by You and Butterfingers, but Tony didn't bother to decorate for himself.

But the Avengers didn't know that Christmas and Tony Stark didn't mesh. Thor was celebrating the Christmas holiday with Jane, but the other Avengers were still milling about the home and bugging him to decorate.

Natasha didn't seem to care all that much, but Clint continually left shopping magazines lying around whenever Tony entered a room, the pages strategically left open to certain decorations that he wanted bought. Bruce didn't seem to have any idea it was Christmas as far as Tony knew, but he tended to absentmindedly agree with Clint's demands for a Christmas tree and other holiday decorations.

But Steve… Steve wanted the house decorated. He wanted the full ride, tree, lights, tinsel, mistletoe, and whatever else Christmas constituted of. And he couldn't seem to understand why Tony was so against decorating the house.

It could've been a problem easily rectified if they would simply _talk_ like Pepper kept insisting, but Tony was notoriously bad with emotions and talking in general unless it involved cracking jokes and side-stepping serious conversations with witty rejoinders, and Steve kept leaving the room before the argument became too volatile and things were thrown (no one forgot the time Mjölnir had accidentally been thrown through a wall by Steve the time he'd ripped into Tony for being too careless in the field and not letting the team know what he was doing; Thor had been impressed).

But Tony being Tony and Steve being Steve, it was only so long until the stalemate the two were in was broken.

* * *

It was early in the morning when Tony shuffled into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and desperately wishing for a cup of coffee. He hadn't gone to bed at all last night, too busy fixing the latest mess R&D had caused with the newest StarkPhone (and then he'd gone and designed the next prototype; Pepper would doubtlessly be unsurprised when she received the news).

He ignored the conspicuous ruffling of the magazine Clint was flicking through in favor of turning the coffee machine on and pulling a mug out of the cabinet.

"I was thinking this really white tree," Clint said loudly.

On Clint's left side, Bruce hummed into the cup of tea he was nursing.

"It's really sparkly, see?" Clint said. "This way, I think the angel doll Natasha's got will fit right in."

His super high tech coffee machine was already done, so Tony grabbed the pot and poured the black concoction no one else dared drink into his mug. Mindful of the last time he'd gulped down a mug of scalding coffee, he blew on it to cool it down some before taking his first sip.

"Or how about this rainbow-colored one?"

Narrowing his eyes at the red apple with a post-it note that had "Tony" with a smiley-face written on it, Tony recognized the writing as Steve's. He vaguely remembered that the last thing he'd eaten (or drank actually) was a green smoothie Dummy had nudged next to his hand. Taking another swig of his black coffee, Tony picked up the apple, peeling the note off and slipping it into his pocket.

Taking a seat at the table, Tony refilled his coffee and pondered the apple. He'd been planning on going to bed, but maybe he should eat something?

"I'm a fan of the tree shaped like a dildo," Clint said, causing Bruce to choke on his tea.

Now Tony looked up, confused. "What?"

"JARVIS, what do you think?" Clint asked.

"Should I put in an order for your quarters?" JARVIS responded smoothly.

"For what?" Tony asked, baffled.

Clint looked at him pityingly, sliding the magazine over. "Christmas tree? I've been leaving magazines all over the place, but you haven't seemed to notice."

"I did. I just thought you were being lazy."

"Who's the one who hasn't decorated the place?" Clint asked. "I'm just trying to help out."

"New York's decorated," Tony said. On second thought, he didn't want to eat the apple.

"Eat the apple, Tony," Steve said, appearing out of nowhere. He briefly rested a hand on Tony's shoulder before going to the fridge and rummaging around in it to pull out a carton of eggs. "JARVIS tells me you haven't eaten since yesterday. Are you going to bed?"

"JARVIS," Tony mumbled half-threateningly, letting the apple drop in favor of his coffee.

JARVIS sounded innocent. "Yes, sir?"

"4chan, JARVIS, 4chan."

"I tremble in fear, sir."

"Apple, Tony." Steve placed a knife and bowl in front of Tony.

"It sounds like you're trying to bribe him with Apple tech," Clint said, pulling the magazine back to himself.

"Apple's tech sucks," Tony muttered, petulantly picking up the knife and beginning to slice the apple into bits.

"I'll transfer to Apple if you don't decorate," Clint said cheerfully.

"I fear I must advise against this course of action," JARVIS said before Tony could. "Apple's products are a security risk."

"JARVIS," Clint said, sounding appalled.

"I did want to talk about that," Steve said before anyone else could get in on the conversation.

"Apple products?" Tony asked, confused, taking a small bite of an apple slice.

"No, decorating."

"I draw the line at a tree shaped like a dildo," Bruce said.

"I was joking," Clint said. "They don't actually sell those." He actually looked regretful. "But maybe we could make one look like one? Let the big guy—"

"No."

"Aw, c'mon, Bruce—"

"No." Bruce's reply was calm, and he took a sip of his tea, staring at Clint over the rim of his cup.

Clint wisely changed tracks. "Then what about the rainbow-colored one?"

"No," Tony said this time, drawing everyone's attention. "We're not doing that."

Steve sat down now, an omelet on his plate. He set another plate of toast between him and Tony. "And why not?" he asked, his pointed look clearly stating that he expected an answer.

"Because I don't decorate."

"Patently untrue. What about Halloween?" There was a ruffling noise and Clint winced. "Ow, Bruce!" He shot the other man an injured look, which Bruce ignored.

"I don't decorate," Tony repeated, concluding his statement with a bite of apple.

Steve had a mulish glint in his eyes. "This is _Christmas_, Tony," he said. "You can't just let the house look like this!" He gestured with his fork around the room.

"Is there something wrong with the decor?"

"Don't give me that! I want a _straight _answer, Tony."

"I gave you one. I don't decorate for Christmas. Besides," Tony added, "it wouldn't be PC to do so. Not everyone here celebrates Christmas."

"Bull," Steve said bluntly. "I know for a fact that Natasha and Thor have no objections, and Thor isn't even going to be here. Clint's been trying to get you to decorate since October, and Bruce is just fine with it."

"October?" Tony repeated dubiously, brow furrowing. "Really?"

"I left you magazines," Clint said petulantly. "And notes. And lists. And _e-mails_."

"I didn't get any of that."

"My apologies," JARVIS said. "Dummy was on a cleaning spree that month and doubtlessly cleared it up. The e-mails were deleted as they consisted primarily of advertisements and were consequently filtered as spam."

Tony waved a dismissive hand. "That doesn't matter. The point is that I'm not going to decorate the place."

"Why not?" Steve demanded.

"Because I don't celebrate Christmas," Tony snapped. "I never have."

"Then you won't have any objections if we decorate the place."

"I do," Tony said sharply, eyes snapping up to meet Steve's. "You're not going to do anything, Steve."

Steve's eyes narrowed slightly. His next words were deliberately slow and heavy. "And why not?" He had never pushed Tony this far before, always choosing to drop the subject before it became volatile. It was clear he wasn't standing for it now.

And Tony was just done. "It's a frivolous, ridiculous event," he snapped, dropping the rest of his apple into the bowl with a clatter. "It's nothing but a way for businesses to get money. The whole concept of Christmas has been so commercialized and overdone it's no longer what it was. It's nothing but a reason for people to demand things from others or shove off their responsibilities because they can. Christmas just doesn't _exist_. It's why I don't do it and why I won't _ever_ do it. And that's the last I have to say on it."

There was a horrible silence. Clint and Bruce had both frozen and huddled down to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible, eyes flickering between Tony and Steve. Steve's eyes had widened imperceptibly during Tony's tirade before narrowing and smoothing out altogether. His lips were pinched, the only sign he wasn't unaffected.

"I see." Steve's voice was tight. His fingers tightened on the fork with a small audible protest of metal before he visibly forced himself to relax and set the abused utensil down. He abruptly stood up, taking his plate and taking two slices of toast from the other.

He was at the doorway when he turned his head and said in a carefully even voice, "Eat that and go to bed."

Tony's eyes darted between the plate of toast and the half-eaten apple. "What? What about you?" He couldn't stop himself from sounding confused, and unexpected guilt twisted at his insides.

"I'm leaving," Steve replied evenly.

_ Permanently_? "_What_?"

"I'll be back in a couple of days. I'm volunteering at a food bank." Steve didn't bother to elaborate, instead continuing to say, "You're clearly incapable of changing your mind." With that parting salvo, he left the kitchen entirely.

It took a fair amount of restraint to stop Tony from dropping his head to the table. "Fuck." He pressed his palms into his forehead. "_Fuck_." How badly had he messed that up?

Clint whistled lowly, and Tony belatedly realized that the other two had never left the room. "Wow, you sure know where to hit a guy, Tony."

"Shut up, Barton." Tony side-eyed the plate of toast with a nauseous feeling, his stomach roiling unpleasantly in guilt.

Tony didn't have to look up to know that both Bruce and Clint were disappointed in him. It wasn't anything new (he _always_ disappointed people), but the unpleasant feeling in his chest was.

No one else spoke, and it wasn't until Tony looked up several minutes later that he realized he was alone. He couldn't eat anything, and there was no possible chance of him getting sleep now, so he stuffed the toast in the fridge and threw the rest of his apple into the compost.

Then with all the expertise of a man used to fleeing uncomfortable situations, he secluded himself in his workshop.

* * *

Oh _Christ_ had he screwed up. He hadn't meant to go off like that, but Steve had a way of pushing all his buttons in all the wrong ways (and sometimes right), and Tony was tired of justifying his reasons for not decorating the house for Christmas. Still, he was mature enough to admit that he had been in the wrong, but he had no idea how to go about fixing the problem.

Tony rubbed a hand tiredly over his face. "JARVIS, on a scale of one to ten, how badly did I fuck that up?"

Thankfully JARVIS sounded as unruffled as ever as he responded, "In my unbiased estimate, I would say a nine, sir."

"Shit." Tony let his hand drop. "Has Steve left?"

"Captain Rogers left the premises ten minutes ago, sir."

Tony bit back the curse he wanted to let out, opting instead to rub his forehead in frustration. He shouldn't feel so _guilty_ for what he had just done. Steve should've let it drop, should've accepted Tony's answer (_non_-answer) for what it was. He shouldn't have pushed Tony, because what else could he have expected?

Tony Stark didn't _do_ Christmas, and Steve should've realized that by now.

Clint's blunt voice came from behind him. "You're a royal ass, you know."

Tony didn't jump, startle, or give any other indication that Clint had surprised him. He was too used to the twin assassins from S.H.I.E.L.D. popping up out of random locations with nary a warning.

"You just realizing that?" Tony asked, half-spinning his chair so his side profile faced Clint. "Newsflash – I've _always_ been an ass."

"No, usually you're just a dick who doesn't care about what other people think. This time you were really an ass." Clint sat on a desk, arms folded across his chest.

Tony arched an eyebrow. "What's the difference?"

Clint gave him a hard look. "You know exactly what."

Heaving out a sigh, Tony started, "Look—"

"What is your problem anyway?" Clint demanded. "Why are you so against doing the place up?"

Swallowing, Tony tried again, "Clint—"

"I'm not interested in half-assed excuses," Clint said abruptly. "Just because Pepper broke up with you—"

"_It's not because of Pepper_!" With a sense of vindictive satisfaction, Tony noted Clint's surprise at his vehemence. Before he continued, he took a calming breath; his tone was notably calmer now. "It's not because of Pepper," he repeated. "It was never because of her."

"Then?"

Tony offered a small shrug. "I've never done Christmas."

"Stark Industries throws a big shindig every year," Clint pointed out.

"That's public. Privately, I don't." Tony gestured around at the workshop, though the movement extended to the rest of the mansion. "This isn't a new thing. There's never been any reason for me to do it."

"And now?" Clint prompted, brow furrowed.

Now that he had a team living with him? "It doesn't change anything."

"Because you're scared," Clint said bluntly. "That's all it is. You're not living alone here anymore, Tony."

"Do I have to remind you who owns the place?"

"Believe me – no one can forget who owns the house." Clint's response was dry. He paused for a moment, looking down at his hands. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. "You ever think about the team? What we might want?"

"None of you celebrate Christmas," Tony stated. Clint and Natasha were S.H.I.E.L.D. assassins without a family; the organization itself didn't give its employees Christmases beyond paid leave. Bruce had been on the run for the last few years, and that wasn't conducive to celebrating holidays. Thor was a Norse god and there were no Christmases up on Asgard. There was no need to go into Steve and why time served as an icicle didn't allow for celebrations.

"Steve does," Clint said quietly. "And I…I honestly thought you'd at least care about _him_."

Tony frowned, eyes snapping over to meet Clint's. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." Clint looked rather resigned. "But Steve's been alone, Tony. Can you blame him for wanting to celebrate his first Christmas with us?"

Guilt twisted at Tony's insides, and he barely stopped himself from shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "And you?" he asked quietly.

Clint's smirk was self-deprecating. "Does it matter?" He was gone before Tony could even think to say anything.

* * *

It wasn't that Tony didn't _like_ Christmas. Really. Christmas had its uses, one of which was getting ordinarily stingy businessmen to donate large amounts of money to any one of his charitable foundations. Another was being able to take time off if he wanted to (not that he ever had beyond using it to get drunk or have sex).

It was that Christmas and Tony Stark had never – _never_ – gotten along. And it stood to reason (and statistics) that it wouldn't be any different this year, even with a superhero team staying in his house. They weren't going to stay after all, so why should he go the extra mile and decorate (make them feel at _home_)? (No one ever stayed, and Pepper and Rhodey were outliers in an otherwise normal curve.)

"Should I call Colonel Rhodes, sir?" JARVIS interrupted his train of thought.

Tony blinked, looking down at the mess of wires he'd made of the blender. Dummy stood rather forlornly at the end of the table, evidently upset at the loss of his property.

Putting down his screwdriver, Tony sat back. "Why are you asking?"

"You have mentioned Colonel Rhodes's name no less than five times since you started dismantling Dummy's blender." The aforementioned bot gave a distressed whine.

He'd mentioned Rhodey? Tony hadn't even consciously thought about him, but evidently his brain had other ideas if his mouth was running like that.

"Sir?" JARVIS prompted, reminding Tony that there had been a point to the discussion.

Tony didn't see how Rhodey could help, but JARVIS wouldn't be likely to let this drop unless he was explicitly ordered to do so, and Tony didn't have the heart to do it. "Yeah, call him."

A holographic blue screen popped up next to his head, Rhodey's photo on it. No sound came, but it was clearly ringing.

Rhodey picked up five seconds into it. "_If this is about the gala, I'm not going as your date._"

"That hurts," Tony responded automatically. "Really, truly, deeply, butterscotch."

"_Not sorry, Tony._" Rhodey paused. "_Is this about the gala?_"

Tony considered lying for all of five seconds before the disapproving and too knowing silence from JARVIS cinched it for him. "No," he admitted.

Rhodey's tone was completely serious now. "_What is it?_"

Tony sighed, scratching his thumbnail across his forehead as he considered his words. "You know how I don't do Christmas?"

Rhodey thankfully didn't call him out on his prevaricating. "_You never have as long as I've known you._" His tone was cautious.

"It's a problem now," Tony admitted.

"_Is it something the team did?_"

"No, not the team," Tony said too quickly. When Rhodey let the disbelieving silence hang for a few seconds too long, Tony hurried to add, "Not the _entire_ team, Rhodey. It's just…StevewantsaChristmasandImayhavepissedhimoff," he blurted out.

Rhodey sounded confused. "_I didn't catch any of that._"

Tony took a breath, telling himself to _calm down_. "Steve. He wants a Christmas. And I…might have…" He trailed off, unwilling to finish the sentence.

"_Stuck your foot in your mouth?_" Rhodey guessed with all the wisdom of an old friend. "_That's nothing new._"

Tony grunted in response, not wanting to go more into detail.

Rhodey wasn't having it. "_Come on, that can't be it. If it were just about you making an ass of yourself, you wouldn't even have bothered calling. What do you need, Tony?_"

"What makes you think I need anything?" Tony asked peevishly.

"_You're worried and feeling guilty and you don't know what to do because you have the emotional maturity of a five year old. So you called your best friend who __**is**__ emotionally mature for some sage advice. We've done this before._"

And they had, back when his relationship with Pepper had been growing rockier and rockier despite all his efforts to salvage it. They were lucky to still be close friends, but this situation wasn't one Tony could ask Pepper about because the Avengers had been one of the things that had struck the death blow.

"I really messed it up," Tony confessed quietly. "They've been bugging me the last several months about decorating. This morning Steve couldn't do it anymore. So he left."

"_He __**left**__?_" Rhodey yelped.

"Well, not _left_ left; he's gone to volunteer at a food bank or something, but he did leave."

Rhodey didn't immediately respond. Something about the silence told Tony his friend suspected that there was more to the story.

Still, Rhodey being Rhodey, he let it drop in favor of asking, "_What happened then?_"

Tony suppressed a relieved sigh. "Clint. He… It…" He did sigh now, but in frustration. "Should I have done it?"

"_Decorated, you mean?_" Rhodey hummed thoughtfully. "_I get why you don't like to do it, but you haven't told them, have you?_" The question was clearly rhetorical as he continued before Tony could answer. "_You never did it before because there wasn't any need. But I know Pepper's made sure Christmas Eve and Day are free, so it's not going to be the same._

"_So, Tony, why __**not**__?_"

Tony didn't respond immediately, tapping a wire picker against the tabletop. He wet his lips as he looked askance at the glowing screen with Rhodey's face. "They won't stay," he said finally, soft.

"_What?_" Rhodey's answer was sharp.

"They won't stay," Tony repeated, a heavy feeling in his gut. "They never do."

"_Tony…_" It was Rhodey's turn to sigh. "_We stayed,_" he reminded him gently.

"You and Pepper don't count," Tony said immediately. "You're outliers."

"_Out of how big a subject pool?_" But Rhodey didn't let him answer. "_Never mind. Have you considered the possibility that maybe they're outliers, too?_"

"Statistically not possible given the size of the subject pool."

"_What if you're wrong?_"

"My math's never wrong."

"_Whatever you say, Tony,_" Rhodey said, clearly humoring him.

"What?" Tony demanded, miffed.

"_Nothing._" Even if Tony couldn't see him, Rhodey was clearly grinning on his end. "_Look, Tony_"—his tone was serious again—"_you and I both know that when it comes to people you can be a bit odd._" Which was a polite way of saying stupid. "_So why don't you tell me in detail what Clint said?_"

"Just that Steve wants a Christmas. That the others wouldn't mind either."

"_Uh-huh._" Rhodey didn't sound convinced that was it. "_And it hinges on Steve?_"

"He's the one who walked out," Tony said, all too aware he sounded like a little kid.

"_Very mature of him, too,_" Rhodey said with absolutely zero sympathy. "_So why don't you? Just once._"

Swallowing thickly, Tony leaned forward on his elbows, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Because."

"_I'm not in your head, Tony. You have to tell me what's going on. Because what?_"

Christmas was about family, about being together and being thankful and not being _alone_. And Tony had never had that, not once. He'd come close in MIT with Rhodey, but even then something had been missing as he hadn't fit in well with Rhodey's family the one time he'd been invited. Perhaps sensing that, Rhodey hadn't invited him again.

The Avengers came too close to a proper family, and Tony was scared shitless that they would leave (they had no reason to _stay_). If he went out on a limb to make this a proper Christmas – to do what he had never done before – it would leave him baring his heart and freeing it to be ripped apart.

He'd been quiet too long, as Rhodey sighed quietly, evidently picking up what he needed from it.

"_Sometimes,_" Rhodey said softly, "_the bravest thing you can do is take a chance. And, Tony, you're no coward._"

"No?" Tony gave a wry chuckle. "Sometimes I wonder."

"_Don't. Or I'll get someone over there to kick your ass. Like the big guy._"

"Please." His snort was genuine. "Hulk loves me too much for that."

"_Who says I was talking about Hulk?_" Rhodey asked, amused. "_So get to it!_"

"Yeah, okay, pumpkin." Tony gave the floating screen showing the phone call a warm smile. "And, Rhodey?"

"_Yeah?_"

"Thanks."

There was a warm laugh. "_You're welcome, Tony. I'll see you around._"

With that, the call disconnected, and the holographic screen winked out, leaving Tony staring into the distance with a slightly furrowed brow.

It hinged on Steve. And Tony didn't know _why_, but it did.

_"And I…I honestly thought you'd at least care about __**him**__."_

So if that was it, then Tony thought he knew what he needed to do.

* * *

The next time Tony left his workshop, it was about ten at night and he was vibrating with manic energy. He had his plan ready, JARVIS had put in the orders for the materials he didn't have , and all he needed was some coffee to make sure he wouldn't crash before he could get it ready.

He didn't miss Bruce sitting at the kitchen table with a pad and tablet at his elbow, but he was too focused on getting his coffee to ask him what he was doing in the kitchen and not in his lab.

"You didn't sleep, did you?" Bruce asked after Tony had gotten the coffee machine started.

Tony didn't look over. "Says who?"

"You're a bit too hyper."

"Mm." Tony opened a cupboard, making a face as he was met with plates and glasses. "Where's the popcorn?"

Bruce didn't ask why he wanted popcorn. "By the microwave."

Grabbing a bag, Tony gave the instructions a cursory lookover before putting it in the microwave and pressing a button.

"Can I ask why you're making popcorn?" Bruce asked.

"It's for the tree."

"Ah." Bruce thankfully didn't press for more details. "Won't you need more then?"

"I don't know. Internet was annoyingly vague on exact requirements beyond giving instructions for how to string them." The coffee now done, Tony filled a mug and sat down, inhaling the delicious fumes.

Bruce looked over Tony's shoulder, his eyes fixed on a far off point. "You know," he said in a distant voice, "I never did Christmas either."

Tony didn't freeze, but it was a very near thing. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Bruce's smile was wry. "My mom tried, but…" He shrugged, his smile turning lopsided. "But I don't know if it's worse being alone or—"

"No, stop," Tony interrupted. He knew all about Bruce's horrible father, and dickish as Howard had been, he hadn't been as bad as Brian Banner. "We're not comparing sob stories."

"Okay," Bruce agreed amiably. "But still…it'll be nice to have one," he added quietly.

Tony's heart tightened slightly in his chest, and he felt horribly guilty for behaving like such an ass earlier. "Bruce—"

"I understand," Bruce said. "It's difficult putting yourself out there. Especially for something like this."

And Bruce _did_. Tony felt suspiciously like hugging him, so he took another gulp of his coffee before standing to attend to the popcorn and pop another bag in the microwave. Then he sat down with a spool of thread he'd fished out of his pocket and a bowl.

"Wanna help?" he offered, opening the bag with a rather loud ripping sound.

"You'll have to show me how it's done," Bruce said. "I haven't spent the last so many hours researching this."

Tony neither denied nor confirmed his assumption, but he did offer a small grin. "It's pretty easy. I had Dummy practice with me."

"Dummy?" Bruce sounded politely disbelieving.

"It was that or knitting a scarf."

"He only has one arm."

"Exactly," Tony said, extending the thread so it spanned the tabletop.

Blinking, Bruce shook it off and stood to get the second bag of popcorn out. When he'd sat down again, he asked, "When's the tree coming?"

"Tomorrow." He checked the clock, waiting for the popcorn to cool off enough so he could start.

"Steve's coming back the day after," Bruce mused.

"Then we'll have to be fast." Tony checked the temperature, made a face, and returned to his coffee. "I've got some other decorations in the attic."

"I'll help," Bruce assured him, though Tony hadn't been worried about that (he would've done it all by himself if he needed to).

Tony's lips quirked into a small smile. "Thanks."

In another ten minutes, the popcorn had cooled enough that Tony could start. Bruce picked it up quickly enough, and they worked in a companionable silence, breaking only to make more popcorn when they couldn't resist sneaking some kernels.

They'd finished one spool of thread when Tony spoke. "Bruce… When Steve comes back…can you…?" He couldn't finish the question.

"Yeah, Tony." But Bruce knew what he wanted anyway. "I can." His smile was soft and understanding.

Ducking his head shyly, Tony returned his focus to stringing popcorn (never mind he could do this in his sleep – it was so boring). If he was going to put himself out there, then he was going to do this right. (Because _Steve_.)

* * *

Thanks to Tony's reputation and money, everything JARVIS had ordered arrived sometime during the next day, the tree being first. There had been no way to hide it as Tony had it brought indoors. He didn't miss the way Clint's eyes flickered between it and Tony, but Tony said nothing in favor of tipping the delivery man.

The decorations he'd spoken about with Bruce were old, belonging to his mother. (Not that they'd ever been used beyond the one time he'd tried his hand at a Christmas by himself when he was fourteen.) They were fancy baubles, and Tony picked out only the best, using pine cones, candy canes, popcorn garlands, and fake candles for the rest (yes, he'd used Google. Shut up, Rhodey). Bruce helped with the decorating, and Clint joined in some time later, a rather shy grin on his face as he did.

Tony didn't know where Natasha was, but he guessed she was most likely with Steve. They'd hit it off pretty well and were close friends.

Once the tree was done, Tony hauled out the rest of the stuff he'd ordered. Clint took the outside without asking, decorating the mansion extravagantly. Bruce and Tony were a bit more discreet with the inside, though they made sure the living room with the tree looked the prettiest.

Then, armed to the teeth with cooking books, Tony tackled the kitchen. He was shooed out not even an hour later by Bruce when his first batch of cookies went horrendously wrong and nearly set the oven on fire. Sulking, he hung around the living room until he saw Clint joining in on the baking. He fled to the workshop after that, determined to do his own thing.

His bots were all too eager to help him out with the welding and torching. Dummy procured a red Santa hat from somewhere and rolled around in excitement, the silly-looking thing on top of his camera. You and Butterfingers dragged out a metal-looking thing that could have been a tree if Tony squinted. They proceeded to string it with lights and put a leftover candy cane on it.

Two hours later and Tony looked up from what he was doing to find that his bots had put _presents_ under the tree. They weren't wrapped and were clearly gizmos from around the shop, but some were things Tony hadn't seen before, so they'd obviously been putting stuff together in private.

He meant to ask when they'd done it, but then Clint came and dragged him out of the workshop to stuff him full of cookies and have him try the eggnog. Bruce just smiled and continued measuring out flour and sugar like he'd been doing it all his life.

("How much are you _making_?" Tony asked through a mouthful of delicious sugar cookie.

("Dunno. Eggnog?" Clint answered, shoving a glass into his hand.)

With the smell of warm cookies being baked wafting through the halls and the warm lights and tinsel strung up, the mansion had never felt homier. And Steve wasn't even back yet.

Tony was scared shitless.

("It'll be fine, Tony," Bruce said calmly, putting a tray of chocolate chip cookies in the oven.

("How do _you_ know?" Tony didn't sound at all hysterical.

("Have a cookie," Clint said, shoving one into Tony's mouth without warning.)

* * *

The next day (the day Steve came _back_) dawned bright and cold and snowy. Tony had gotten five hours sleep the night before because both Bruce and Clint had pointed out that Steve wouldn't be happy if he saw a manic and sleep-deprived Tony bouncing off the walls. Five hours wasn't enough, but it was all Tony was going to get thanks to his nerves. JARVIS hadn't even let him call Pepper after the hundred e-mails he'd bombarded her with (she'd just e-mailed him back once to tell him to put his big boy pants on and save some eggnog for her).

Steve didn't show up in the morning, and Tony went and made pancakes without burning anything. Clint and Bruce helped with the clean up (namely eating) and then disappeared.

When Steve didn't show up in the afternoon either, Tony obsessively went over every inch of the mansion with a fine-toothed comb and made sure everything looked _amazing_. He then went in the kitchen and proceeded to burn another two batches of cookies because clearly the oven hated him. Bruce gently pushed him out and began cleaning up. There was nothing to be done about the stench, and Clint pulled faces at him the rest of the afternoon.

It wasn't until it was seven and a fire was merrily cracking away in the grate that JARVIS announced Steve's and Natasha's return.

Tony froze in the living room, blinking like an owl.

"Jeez, here," Clint said when Tony didn't move, setting an entire pitcher of his homemade eggnog on the table along with two glasses. "Don't mess it up."

"What?" Tony asked, heart jumping like a jackrabbit in his chest.

"You'll be fine," Bruce reassured him, squeezing his shoulder once before he left the same way as Clint.

Swallowing thickly, Tony glanced over at the tree and the boxes under it before he reached for the eggnog and poured two glasses. He didn't question the pitcher; Clint had done weirder stuff.

He didn't have to wait long before Steve showed up in the doorway, his face dark in the shadows. The flickering flames of the firelight made his expression look strange, and Tony had to swallow again.

"Uh, here." Tony stiffly held out a glass.

Steve looked at it uncomprehendingly.

"It's eggnog," Tony said helpfully. "Um…Clint made it."

When Steve made no move to take it, Tony shifted uncomfortably, looking down at his feet. He'd really screwed this up, hadn't he? (He was so going to tell Rhodey "I told you so" the next time he saw him.) "It's okay," Tony said quickly, forcing himself to look back up and meet Steve's eyes. "You don't need to drink it. I just thought—"

"No, it's fine," Steve interrupted him, finally taking a slow step forward and taking the glass Tony had still been holding out like an automaton. He peered down at the drink. "You said Clint made this?" His tone was neutral.

"Yeah." Tony shrugged, looking to the fire. "And Bruce made cookies," he added after a moment, seeing the plate Bruce had set on the coffee table.

Steve's brow furrowed slightly, and he tilted his head to the side, nose wrinkling as if he smelled something bad.

With a jolt, Tony remembered his fiasco in the kitchen. "I burnt some cookies earlier today if you're wondering about the smell."

"I see." Steve's tone was still infuriatingly neutral, and it was driving Tony _mad_.

"I lied earlier," Tony blurted.

Now Steve looked perplexed. "You didn't burn the cookies?"

"No, I did. I meant I lied about why I don't do Christmas." He gestured towards the tree. "It's not because it's overdone. It's because I'm always alone." He shrugged, mouth twisting unhappily. "And it's no fun being by yourself, so I just stopped."

"But you're not alone now."

"So you say," Tony said, tapping a finger against his glass. "But will you stay?"

Steve blinked, and he frowned for a moment before sudden realization flashed across his face and his eyes widened. It was the first sign of honest emotion Tony had seen from him since he'd come back.

"Tony…" Steve's voice was achingly soft. "I'm staying. We're _all_ staying."

"You say that _now_." Tony gave a bitter smirk.

"No, I'm not." The words were firmer now. "You're stuck with us, Tony." He set his untouched glass of eggnog down, stepping forward to take Tony's and put that down, too, before he took both of Tony's hands in his own. "You've got us, and we're not going to leave."

Tony frowned down at their hands, this new development sending his thoughts into a tailspin. "Lovely sentiment," he managed.

Steve groaned, the sound quietly frustrated. "It's not a _sentiment_. You know why I left before? It wasn't because you made me mad."

"But you were mad."

"I was mad," Steve confirmed, still holding Tony's hands. "But I left because that had already been planned. And it gave me time to think and realize that it really isn't any of my business to force you to celebrate something you don't want. So I came back intending to tell you that. Only…" He shrugged, eyes flickering around the room.

"Clint may have had something to say about it," Tony said. "And Rhodey, when I asked. Though he more or less told me I wasn't a coward and should just do it."

"If there's one thing I know," Steve said, "it's that Tony Stark is no coward."

"I know." Tony gave him a broad grin that felt just a tad bit fake. "Why do you think I did this?" _Why do you think I made it possible for you to eviscerate me?_

Steve tilted his head up just a fraction, his eyes roving around the room slower than before. Then he ducked his chin and looked Tony in the eye. "I didn't expect it, but thank you."

Tony's lips quirked in a self-deprecating smile. "I was an ass, I know."

Steve didn't deny it, but his thumb rubbed over Tony's knuckles (which was _really_ fricking weird). "I think what really disappointed me," he began quietly, "was that I thought we had something going on."

Tony's brow furrowed in confusion. "Something?"

"Something," Steve repeated evenly, his eyes now fixed on their intertwined hands. He hesitated visibly for a moment before bringing up Tony's right hand and pressing a kiss to his middle finger. Then, a faint pink hue dusting his cheeks, he let Tony's hands go.

Stunned, it was all Tony could do to say, "Oh."

"It doesn't have to change anything," Steve said. "I've felt this way for a while."

"A while?" Tony repeated dumbly, still hung up on the fact that Steve might have a _thing_ for him (or did actually, since he'd just _kissed_ Tony's _finger_).

"A while." Steve didn't elaborate.

"That's…um…" Tony floundered for something to hold onto and settled for snatching up his glass of eggnog and downing it in one go. "It's good," he blurted out once he could.

"Is it? Because you don't—"

"No, see, I did all this for _you_." Tony gestured emphatically. "See, it hinges on you – always has. Even _Clint_ could see it, and he doesn't hold seven doctorates."

"That's…seven? Really?" Steve shook his head. "No, don't answer that. I'm not surprised. But I was kind of obvious about it. Natasha kept telling me over the last two days that she was getting tired of my moping."

"Bruce kept insisting it would be fine." Tony bent over slightly to pick up a cookie and hand it to Steve. "They're actually pretty good."

Steve took the cookie, but didn't make a move to eat it. "Really, Tony," he said, "thank you." He darted a glance to the fireplace, where ten stockings hung from the mantel (which included the bots since they were apparently all for Christmas without needing any cajoling).

Tony shrugged, not really comfortable with such sincere gratitude. "Not a problem," he said.

A beat, and then he added, "But really, Steve, I didn't bake these cookies, and the eggnog's pretty damn good—"

Laughing, Steve tilted slightly to the side to brush his lips over Tony's temple, freezing the moment he realized what he had done. "Ah, sorry. Is—"

"No, good"—Tony's fingers were around Steve's wrist before he could withdraw—"it's fine. _Fine_, Steve," he insisted. "Bit more of a present than I was expecting, that's all."

Steve smiled softly at him. "All right, Tony. And just so you know…this?" He looked around at the room pointedly. "It's more than I could have expected. You and the team… I'm really grateful for you guys. You didn't have to do this, but thank you."

"Well…" Tony let Steve go to pick up the pitcher of eggnog and hand Steve his glass back. "Like you said, I'm no coward."

"No," Steve said. "You're not. Merry Christmas, Tony."

And with an artfully arched eyebrow, Tony dryly pointed out, "We've still got several days to go."

All Tony caught was a roll of Steve's eyes before he was decisively stopped from making any further wise remarks by a pair of warm and soft lips. And _that_ was more than fine (perfect actually).

He might just have to get Rhodey a really brilliant Christmas present this year and refrain from mortifying him with the details of his soon-to-be spiced up sex life.

* * *

**Mini-Epilogue**

"Are they making out in the _living room_?" Clint asked, horrified.

Natasha peered at the holographic display JARVIS had helpfully pulled up to let them know that Tony and Steve weren't going to maul each other in a fit of unresolved sexual tension. "It would seem so."

"Were you expecting anything different?" Bruce asked, not looking at all phased by this recent development.

"They were at each other's throats not two days ago!"

"Sexual frustration," Natasha noted thoughtfully, nodding. "Who won the betting pool?"

"Ms. Potts," JARVIS answered. "Colonel Rhodes was a few days shy."

"They better not have sex on that couch," Clint said. "We watch TV on it!"

"Cookie?" Bruce offered.

It was safe to say that things were almost back to normal in Avengers Mansion. "Almost" including the fact that the co-leaders of the team were now – as Clint aptly put it several days later – _getting it on_. (When Nick Fury heard this sometime during the New Year's party S.H.I.E.L.D. party, several witnesses claimed he threw his hands up and exclaimed, "Finally!" But no one was certain as to whether or not this true as Fury had an excellent poker face and slapped both Tony and Steve with enough paperwork to last them months. You'd think the guy didn't even know what Christmas was.)

* * *

**Thoughts? Comments? I love to hear from you! It's the only payment I get. :)**

**The prompt I filled: **Steve and Tony get into a fight over how to decorate the house for the holidays. Angry that Tony won't budge, Steve takes off. When he returns home, Tony's decorated the house for an old fashioned Christmas. Tony explains that he's hated Christmas because insert horrible thing here happened, and he's never had anyone who actually gives a damn about him to share it with.


End file.
